Yesterday was my last day at work, so as tradition would have it, leaving drinks followed at the pub down the road; I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Now I’m the definition of a one pint wonder. I rarely drink anymore, and a healthier lifestyle has lead me to be the ultimate cheap date, but as it was my party, so to speak, I decided to forgo my classic role of designated driver and enjoy myself, and it took a grand total of 3 Koppabergs to have me at the perfect balance of loud and funny (in my mind) but still able to walk in a straight line. And yes, the pub closed at 11pm and my mum picked me up, but stumbling in through the door and crawling straight into bed, I felt content with a good night well spent.
I used to do this weekly. A bunch of friends and I would frequent a Sunday pub quiz, I’d get a few rounds in and try to get to bed as quietly as possible after getting home after midnight. On occasion, there would even be a proper night out in town, although those were less regular, but I’d always get that same proud feeling that accompanies a fun time.
But at some point in the last year or two, going out just stopped appealing to me. Maybe it was because my friends were all away at uni, maybe I was trying to save money, maybe I just became boring.. But I’ve missed that feeling.
Not the feeling of being drunk – this isn’t about alcohol – but it’s left me questioning at what point I started perceiving going out as a chore. I do always find myself getting anxious over social occasions, but every time I’ve bucked up and forced myself to go places, I’ve had a great time, so from here on in I’m gonna make more of an effort.
Disclaimer: most of this point was written while under the influence of those three ciders..